Chương 92: 92：An Invincible Emissary

The moment those words left his mouth, a dead silence fell over the stone command post. Even the crackling and smoking of the burning brazier seemed deafeningly loud.

"Absolutely not!" Gary roared. For a subordinate who had always followed his orders to the letter, this was an unprecedented act of defiance. The hardened veteran, forged by years of dancing on the razor's edge of life and death, was so frantic that the veins bulged against his neck.

"My Lord! Be reasonable! That is a goblin lair!" Gary stepped forward, slamming both hands onto the table as he bellowed, "You know better than anyone what kind of creatures goblins are! Don't let Old Cook and the few dozen docile blacksmiths in our village fool you—they only behave because they were beaten into submission and terrified by your military might!"

"Wild goblins are naturally deceitful, greedy, and treacherous! They'll smile at you one second, and blow a poison dart into your throat the next!"

"He's right, My Lord!" Meyer paced frantically, cold sweat beading on his forehead.

"You are the pillar of Greywater Village! The god to six hundred people! How can you walk alone into a monster's den swarming with over a hundred of them?"

"It's practically... it's like a piece of fat meat tossing itself into a wolf's maw!"

"If you want to establish contact, bring the frontline heavy infantry squad! Just hold a sword to their leader's throat, and they'll spill whatever technology you want!" The two brothers were red-eyed with desperation. Without Soren, they wouldn't have the dignified, well-fed, and warmly-clothed lives they enjoyed today. If anything happened to him, Greywater Village—the safe haven they had fought so hard to build—would crumble within hours.

In the face of his trusted aides' desperate pleas, Soren didn't lose his temper. He remained perfectly calm, taking a moment to put himself in the enemy's shoes. If he marched an army into the misty swamps, the goblins—masters of burrowing and stealth—would instantly sense the hostility and seal off their solitary peak. A siege would not only cost lives, but even if they managed to breach the lair, the precious water-sourcing technology would likely be destroyed in a desperate act of mutual destruction.

To get what he wanted, the first step was to display absolute, non-threatening goodwill. But the reason he dared to go alone wasn't out of kindness or arrogance. Soren extended his right arm and unwound the linen bandages around his wrist.

"Gary, draw your dagger," Soren ordered flatly.

"My Lord?"

"Draw your blade! Strike my arm with everything you've got! That is a military order!" Soren's voice suddenly boomed. Gary gritted his teeth. As a soldier, he couldn't disobey a direct command. Sweating profusely, he drew a matte-black dagger from his outer thigh.

"Forgive me, My Lord!" Squeezing his eyes shut, he brought the edge of the blade slashing down hard against Soren's unprotected forearm! In Gary's mind, the razor-sharp dagger was guaranteed to slice open his Lord's skin and draw a spurt of blood. However— Clang! The sharp ring of metal striking metal suddenly exploded through the command post! Gary felt a violent shudder run up his wrist; the recoil nearly sent the dagger flying from his grasp.

Beside him, Meyer's eyes widened to the size of saucers, and he drew in a sharp breath as if he had just seen a ghost. The moment the blade made contact, a layer of unbelievable, dark metallic luster had rippled across the surface of Soren's tanned skin. Despite a full-force strike with a deadly sharp dagger, it had only left a faint, white scratch on Soren's skin. Not a single drop of blood was drawn! This was his Talent, granting a 70% immunity to conventional physical damage: [Hardened Skin]!

"Do you see now?" Soren shook his wrist and rolled his sleeve back down.

"Within the cramped, enclosed tunnels of that peak, they can't deploy heavy siege weapons like ballistas. Ordinary shortswords, poisoned stone spears, stray arrows, or random slashes can't even pierce my bare skin. Let alone..." Soren paused, "... the fact that I'll be wearing a full set of black-iron heavy armor over this!" Double physical defense! Combined with his max-level Grandmaster Military Swordsmanship. And the monstrous strength granted by the [Faint Blood of the Titan]!

At that moment, it finally dawned on the two loyal aides who had followed Soren through hell and back. If the goblins were honest and willing to trade for the technology, all would be well. But if they harbored malicious intentions, Lord Soren could slaughter half the peak on his own and still walk away completely unscathed! Staring at the absolute power Soren had just displayed, Gary and Meyer exchanged a glance.

Finally swallowing the rest of their objections, they took a sharp step back and hammered their right fists over their hearts. Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

"We wish you victory in battle, My Lord!" Soren nodded in satisfaction. Deep within the misty swamps, a sheer, solitary peak thrust out of the center of an acidic mire like a giant sword plunged into the earth. The interior of the peak had long been hollowed out, revealing a hidden subterranean world. Every dozen steps or so, clusters of bright, yellow-glowing subterranean moss were embedded into the cave walls, illuminating a sturdy wooden walkway that spiraled upward along the hollowed-out mountain's inner shell.

Surprisingly, the air here lacked the acidic stench of the decaying bogs outside. Instead, it smelled faintly of fresh spring water and earthy mushrooms. This was the one and only goblin stronghold within a hundred miles. In the sprawling stone cavern at the very peak of the settlement, the atmosphere was suffocating. Luger, the leader of this goblin faction, sat squarely in the center of the hall. He was not your ordinary, hunched, and scrawny goblin, but a rare Hobgoblin. Standing nearly 1.

9 meters tall, thick, rock-like muscles bulged beneath his gray-green skin. He wore a heavy cuirass riveted together from scavenged orcish plate armor, radiating a deeply oppressive aura. At this moment, Luger sat upon a makeshift iron throne, forged and welded together from two discarded black-iron orc tower shields. Resting his elbows on his knees, Luger's slitted yellow eyes glared at the goblin scout kneeling before him.

"Say that again. Gul's head was chopped off and used as a sacrifice?" The kneeling figure was the very same goblin scout who had hidden in the mud pits of the birch forest last night, witnessing the entire massacre unfold with his own eyes. Even having returned to the warm, dry safety of the camp, even while clutching a steaming cup of fresh rock-drip water, the scout was shivering uncontrollably. His face, which should have been a healthy green, was as pale as bleached parchment.

"Chief, I swear it! Every word I say is the truth!" The scout's teeth chattered loudly.

"It was horrifying... They weren't a human army! They were a pack of butchers clad in black armor!"

"They scaled the sheer cliffs behind the Withered Bone Highlands barehanded! Just sixty or so of them, locking together into a formation I've never seen before. When Gul's men charged them, it was like water crashing against an iron wall. They were instantly skewered into bloody sieves by a dense wall of black-iron spears!"

"Their leader—a human named Soren—he lopped off that bastard Gul's head with a single swing! The blood fountained two meters into the air..." At his words, the hundred-plus goblins in the grand hall froze like wooden statues, subconsciously holding their breath. Though this secluded tribe generally stayed out of the territorial wars of the outside world, their intelligence network was incredibly sharp.

Over the past few days, they had caught whispers that a human commander named Soren was rising to power on the edge of the swamp. Rumor even had it that he had slain a Son of Titan. But to them, rumors were just empty stories. Now, however, the bloody reality had been placed right on their doorstep. What kind of force was Gul's band at the Withered Bone Highlands? They were a band of marauders known for being brutal and savage, even by orc standards!

Over the years, in order to protect his goblin foraging teams at the base of the mountain, Luger had clashed with Gul's troops countless times. Each encounter ended with the Hobgoblin fighting to the point of severe injury, just to barely cover his kin's retreat back to the peak. In Luger's own tactical calculations, even if he marched out his entire tribe and utilized the terrain to its fullest, he could only hope to fight Gul to a standstill. Yet this man named Soren had brought a mere sixty men.

In a single night... He completely uprooted the heavily fortified Withered Bone Highlands, wiping them out to the last man! Not a single orc had made it off that plateau alive! Gulp. Luger swallowed hard, his massive hands gripping the edges of his shield-throne.

"How is that possible? What terrifying level of tactical execution and individual combat suppression is that?" As a Hobgoblin endowed with actual intellect, turbulent waves of shock crashed through Luger's mind. Just as the hall was reeling from the shock of the scout's report, a series of frantic, panicked footsteps echoed from the workshop tunnels branching off the side of the hall. The camp's Chief Goblin Engineer ran out, his face drenched in a cold sweat.

He was holding a pair of elongated iron tongs, the ends of which gripped a thick wooden box coated heavily in magic-insulating lead powder. The lid of the wooden box was slightly ajar. Within the shadowy gap, an antique, silver ring rested quietly inside.